Sympathy for the Devil
by Nigiri Ashika
Summary: Most of South Park High has come to Kenny McCormick in need of his 'therapeutic services', and most of the time both parties leave satisfied. When Kenny gets a new 'client', he can't just walk away.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I solemnly swear I will finish this fic. I'm a little bit shocked by what I have planned. I'm very inexperienced in writing serious things, like sex or real angst, but I read it constantly so I really need to work on my skills at creating and describing it. This is going to be darker than anything I've ever written before, and possibly as dark as some of the things I have read. I'm only realizing the true weight of my story as I type this note. This is not a humour fic, nor is it adventure. It also is definitely not going to be the best thing you've ever read. It is, on the other hand, going to be the most effort I've ever put into anything so far in my life. So bear with me.

**Description:** Most of South Park High has come to Kenny McCormick in need of his 'therapeutic services', and most of the time both parties leave satisfied. When Kenny gets a new 'client', he can't just walk away.

**Claimer:** I have decided to confiscate SP from ComCen until they learn to play nice, so that makes it MINE (and mattntrey's).

**Sympathy for the Devil  
**

_"Pleased to meet you... Hope you guess my name"_

He slides his parka over his shirtless torso, wincing as the plastic fur that lines it drags across the stained white bandage that is wrapped around his ribcage. I'm laying on his bed, his pillow soft beneath my head, his thin comforter covering what I'm not comfortable showing. I feel stupid, being so modest around someone who has been naked with every girl in South Park except for _her_. Maybe it's because he's seen all of them naked too, and can make comparisons.

As the thought of him comparing me with all of those other girls enters my mind, I cover myself more and lean off the side of the bed to find my underwear. They're white, with little ballerinas on them. I feel a strong pang of guilt at the realization that these aren't my underwear at all- I bought them for her for Christmas. _My little ballerina_.

My eyes are hot, burning in the same way that everyone's eyes do, when they're about to cry. The tears spill out, and Kenny sits next to me on his bed. He wraps an arm over my shoulder and pulls me in close. I know for a fact that this is the arm that has a purple, hand-shaped bruise. If it weren't for his "No Questions" rule, I'd ask whose girlfriend he fucked this time. I suddenly realize that I've just joined the masses of desperate cheaters in South Park. Just as suddenly, I realize that what we just did wasn't cheating at all. I'm silent, head resting on his damaged arm even though I know it probably hurts like a motherfucker. When I lift my head he pulls me into a brief hug, then grabs my bra from the floor in front of him and hands it to me. I get dressed and, still feeling light headed, follow him into his living room. He's got a Shitty Wok menu and my cellphone, and I numbly point at what I want. He orders, and then we sit on the couch to wait for the food. There's another one of his rules- "No talking until the food arrives." I thought it was weird when he first told me his list of requirements, but now I'm thankful that we can just sit and watch TV without having to interact. He's polite, and doesn't even complain when I stop channel flipping at _Titanic._ We watch in silence until the doorbell rings, and I get it and give the Chinese man his thirty dorrar.

We sit on the dirty floor to eat, and I'm very aware that I'm allowed to talk now. He scarfs down exactly half of the contents of each thing we've ordered, and then sits back, watching me eat and waiting. I eat an entire pot sticker before taking a deep breath.

"She left me for your friend." He nods, and waits patiently for me to tell him more. I guess at this point he's used to girls fucking him and then bawling their eyes out. That's a good thing- it makes him seem more clinical, like a tongue depressor or a scalpel. Or vicodin. A tool that you use to make yourself better. "Stan." The name rolls off of my tongue with disgust. Everything I've ever done wrong, everything I've lost, it all seems to revolve around this one person. Everything is his fault. When we were kids, we'd whisper secrets on the school playground about how cute we thought he was. We first bonded over our shared crush when I chose "Truth" and I had been asked who I had a crush on. Her response had been "Me too!" and we'd been friends ever since. It's his fault we met. When we all got older, he started being more of an asshole, and we got over him. I was the one who suggested that we both only liked him because he was such an effeminate pussy. I realized that I didn't like boys, and she decided that she must not either, and had only made an exception for him because she was worried what other people would think of her being a dyke like Ms. Garrison... I never got around to pointing out to her that at age eight, she was the last person to do things simply because it was socially all right. We swore off boys entirely, and decided to explore our other options. It was his fault we got together. We were so happy, I would have kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for being such a fuckup, had I realized the part he played. Then she started getting distant, forgetting to call me and stuff like that. One day she forgot I was going to drive her home from school, and I waited for almost an hour for her. I assumed she must have gone home early, maybe she had a stomach ache. I drove to her house to see if she was all right, and I found her with him. It was his fault we broke up. It's his fault I'm here. It's his fault I feel like this. I look at Kenny McCormick's swollen eye, the only damage visible while he's wearing his coat. I feel bad for him, but mostly I feel bad for myself, because I know that no one is going to do that to him for _me_.

I tell him all of this, even the part about wanting someone to beat him up, and he hugs me. He tells me he's always around, if I need anything at all. This makes me laugh bitterly, because I know it's the truth. _Anything_ I could possibly need, he'd try to give me, because he's _just that nice_. Well, that nice _and_ happy that I just fucked him. Guys disgust me. At least for a guy, he's not too bad.

_Well, that was hot_, Kenny thinks to himself as he watches Red's backside disappear behind the front door of his house. Angry sex was his favourite kind of sex, and that was definitely what just happened in his room two hours ago. When she was gone, he grinned- she had left all of the Chinese food for him, having barely eaten a few bites. He tucked in, and erased the hour and a half of bitching from his mind. He wasn't a jerk, not really, but with how many girls came crying to him about their shitty relationships, he'd go crazy remembering all of their sob-stories. He focuses on remembering the sex part of the evening as his sister Karen enters the living room.

"You have _got_ to tell me how you do that, Kenny!"

He looks up from his food-and-sex-induced bliss, and his mood is ruined. "/Do what?/"

"Get so many lesbians to sleep with you, of course. The only chicks I can get work down at Raisins, and even then they only do it if there's a camera."

"/You're what, thirteen? You just don't know how to entice the ladies yet. No, I'm not going to teach you./"

The young teen sits on the floor heavily, pouting before grabbing a leftover box of Chinese food and downing its contents.

"/Bitch,/" he mumbles, pulling the other boxes of food closer to himself protectively.

"Well, I'm off. Porsche's working tonight, and she's as queer as November thirtieth."

"/February./"

Karen is blonde in every way possible. _Porsche's perfect for her_, Kenny thinks to himself, finishing the food as she grabs her jacket and runs out the door. He's always had a feeling that his sister's a lot smarter than she let on, but so far she hasn't given him much to support his theory.

He sits back on the couch, and is just getting into tonight's episode of Terrance and Phillip when the reception cuts out and the screen goes fuzzy. _They finally caught us._ The McCormicks have been stealing cable from their neighbors for the past year and a half. They were bound to find out sooner or later. He gets up and turns off the television, then sits back down on the sofa. His parents are both out for the night- Mr. McCormick has finally gotten a job, so the two spend most of their time at the local bar, drinking themselves back into poverty every paycheck. His brother Kevin is on a school trip to Washington DC (the school had paid for him to go. Just because Mr. McCormick had a job doesn't mean they're suddenly rich.) Karen will be gone for a few hours- all night if things go well. This leaves Kenny utterly alone in the tiny house. He grins. This is just how he likes it.

Sitting in the middle of his living room, with a comfortably full stomach and a hot new memory, he unzips his pants and begins to stroke himself.

The electricity in the McCormick home surges, and then goes out.

A minute later, he wouldn't have cared if South Park was being bombed. Luckily, he hasn't had enough time to get really into it when the house is suddenly plunged into darkness. He jumps, closing his pants unceremoniously.

It's not windy out, it's not rainy or snowing, and he watched his dad pay the electricity bill a week ago. A peek out the window shows that no one has lost electricity but him.

_Fuck._

He makes his way into his room easily, though he can't see anything. Losing his vision to the dark has made his other senses that much stronger. He is hyper-aware of the fact that his pants are rough on the inside, and have a zipper in the worst possible place. He is also hyper-aware that there are heavy footsteps on his roof.

Once in his room, he feels his way to his desk.

The book he's looking for is closed. He always closes it when he has "company", but most of the rest of the time it lays open on his desk for the world to see. His little black book. It's not really little or black- the fourth grade yearbook is actually rather large and brightly coloured, and hardly discreet, but it does the trick. Inside, next to most of the pictures is a number from 1-10 and a phone number. Some of them only have ratings, some only contact information, but it may surprise you to learn that quite a few of the rated children are male. The picture of Kenny himself (his fourth-grade ass, to be more specific), has a large, very bold "10" written next to it in Kenny's own writing. A little self-confidence never hurt anyone.

He grabs this book and shoves it into his closet, beneath a pile of clothes. Then he slowly makes his way to his bed and stows himself beneath it, breathing lightly. A flashlight beam illuminates his hallway, and he can tell that in his distraction, whoever was on the roof earlier has found a way into the house.

He sees a pair of feet outside his open bedroom door.

The feet pass his door.

There are footsteps in the kitchen, and the undeniable sound of a refrigerator opening.

Kenny scrambles out from under his bed, and walks into the kitchen, all stress gone from his body.

A hulking mass is bent in front of the fridge, pointing a flashlight at the contents. "Goddamn poor pieces of shit!" The mass whispers, pushing ketchup out of the path of light to reveal more ketchup.

Kenny lowers his hood, crosses his arms, and leans on the kitchen door frame.

"No fucking food anywhere! Make the _poor asshole_ go on a fucking diet, shit. It's not like he'd miss the goddamn food. Don't pull that shit with _me_!"

"You're a growing boy, you need your sustenance," Kenny whispers comfortingly, smirking as his overweight "friend" nods in agreement.

"Exactly! I need the food, I'm a growing-" the realization that it isn't himself he's agreeing with surprises him. He pulls his head from behind the fridge door, grinning. "Gritter!"

"Chank. What the fuck are you doing in my house?" _Not to mention shutting off the electricity, raiding my fridge, scaring the shit outta me_...

"Ey! Don't call me a fucking chank! ... The fuck _is_ a chank, anyway?"

"Chubby skank. You know, _you_."

"I am so _not_ a chank!" Kenny can't quite see Cartman in the darkness, but he can picture his round face red with anger, eyes narrowed in frustration. The image elicits a quiet snort from the "poor piece of shit".

"What are you doing here, lardass?"

"Don't call me fat!"

"Fuck. Fine, what are you doing here, _Eric_?"

"That's better. I _was_ testing out the latest Mission: Impossible Breaking and Entering Playset."

"On my _house_?"

"Hey, who put sand in your vagina? You sound like a whiny Jew."

"Cartman, seriously, you climbed my roof, shut off my power, broke into my house, and scared the _shit_ outta me because you wanted to test out a new toy?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You're a fucking asshole."

**A/N2:** I'm very anxious to hear what people think of this so far. Tell me about anything you like, or anything I could do better. As long as you don't flame, I'll try to live up to your expectations.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** So... certain parts of this story seem to write themselves, while others take me days and days of work only to end up being scratched out or erased. I tried to do some actual, hardcopy planning, but it ended up turning into a chart of relationships sort of like the kind you'd have to make to keep up with a soap opera. So screw that, I'm letting it take me where it takes me. There is a plot, but it's not set in stone until that fateful click, right? I know I said this would be up earlier, but I have been doing research directly related to the story (and find Wikipedia remarkably unhelpful). BTW: They're juniors in high school. I realize that the perspective is difficult to understand, because I don't have any sort of marker between the switches. I try to make it as clear as possible though.

_What the fuck do you think you're doing?_

"I'm just goin' over to visit my old friend Kenny." I'm walking up to the front door as the Eric in my mind gets redder by the second. He's mighty sore because I'm not going over to his house today. I fiddle with a hole in my denim skirt, making it even bigger than it had been when I bought the thing.

_Turn around, turn around now Butters! You know what Kenny is. You're going over to his house to _fuck_ him!_

"No Eric, I'm going over to Kenny's house and we're going to do what normal kids do. Now, could you please just try to stay quiet while I'm here? I don't want him thinking I'm some sort of freak, talking to myself." _Psh. Like he doesn't know you're a freak already._

I knock on the door. I'm just beginning to think I should have called first (if Kenny had had a phone) when I hear the pounding of footsteps and then the door swings open. My mouth decides that now is a good time to grin. Eric doesn't like this at all, and he's yelling at me, but I'm getting real good at ignoring my imaginary Eric. Especially when I'm happy. Right now I'm happier than I have been for a while, probably since math class earlier today when I found out that I was getting an A plus instead of an A minus, and wouldn't have to get grounded. "Kenny!" I say, lunging at the orange hooded figure behind the door. I hug him, and he doesn't seem to mind as much as he used to.

"/Dude, Butters, it's been forever!/" I'm still grinning, but my smile wavers a little at the use of my old name. "/How are you, dude?/"

My mouth is still turned up, but I'm hardly smiling from joy any more. I'd forgotten just how long it had been since I last saw my childhood friend. I break the hug and step back. "Um. It's not 'Butters' any more..." A wave of emotions rush my head, but I swallow and push them down. I'm playing with the hole in my skirt again, and I look down at it, hoping he'll make the connection.

"/Wait, don't tell me. Marjorine?/" I nod, and begin to worry. How could I have forgotten he didn't know? Now I have to go through the whole stress of wondering what he's going to- "/Well, come on in, my lady!/" He bows extravagantly, arms beckoning me inside. The irony of the gesture is not lost on me, and I smile again. I gues I'd forgotten what a nice boy Kyle is.

I walk in and carefully pick my way through the discarded take-out boxes (all licked-clean of any food) over to his couch. "You don't... mind, do you?" I ask, not sure why I'm questioning his acceptance. 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth' is one of those phrases I learned quickly, but then after the Awesom-O incident, I guess I'm skeptical of any 'gifts' I recieve. I sit on the sofa, and watch as he sits next to me, stretching one arm over the back and one over the armrest.

"/Why would I mind? It's your deal, man. Ma'am. Whatever./" I'm really, really lucky to have a friend like Kenny. I lean over and hug him again.

_Get off him, you little fag!_ Eric is back in my head. I guess the way I'm on my knees on the couch, leaning into his body to hug him _could_ be sexual, but I'm just not the kind of person who'd realize that without someone pointing it out to me. I sit back against my arm rest, and curl my legs under my body.

"I missed you," I say, blushing at the things only I can hear. Eric's moved on to telling me exactly what makes me a fag, and he's gotten to the... descriptions. I'm not even quite sure it's Eric causing me to think these things any more.

No, in fact, that thought was all mine. And that one. And the one in which Kenny is taking off my-

There's a hand waving in front of my face. "Earth to Marjorine!" I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. "Hey, you were staring at me for like, five minutes."

"Oh." Kenny has taken off his hood, so now I can see his whole face. His eye has a bruise around it, like someone punched him.

"Are you okay?" Even though _he's_ the one with the black eye, he looks genuinely worried for me. I haven't seen that expression aimed at me for... gosh. A while now.

"Oh, yeah I'm fine." My eyes focus on the room around me, and I notice there are no lights on. "Why's it so dark in here?"

He looks around, as if just noticing the darkness. "Oh, the power's out." He smiles at me, making me start rubbing my knuckles together nervously. "It's kinda romantic, isn't it?"

"So, are you still in South Park High?" I ask quickly, changing the subject.

He leans back and grins like he's some sort of bad-boy. "In more ways than one, my small friend."

I can tell by the way he's smirking that this is a double-entendre, but I'm still not quite sure how those work. "What do you mean?" I ask, feeling like a dummy for not knowing automatically.

He stands up, and I'm sure he's going to kick me out for being such a dork, but then he grabs my wrist and pulls me into his room. "I'll show you."

Meanwhile, Eric is yelling at the top of his lungs that I should never go into a horny boy's bedroom. He's starting to give me a headache.

Kenny drags me into his room and directs me to his bed before turning his back to me. _See? I told you he was gonna try to fuck you._ As Kenny walks to his closet and begins to search inside, I flatten my skirt and swing my legs, hoping Eric's wrong. _You're just sitting there, waiting for it. You _want_ him to-_

"Here it is!" Kenny's dropping large yellow and orange book on my lap. It's our fourth grade yearbook. I remember the day we took out pictures. Everyone thought that I'd worn makeup to make myself look weird that day. They thought I was trying to ruin the picture. My dad was really angry about that. I was grounded for a long time for not taking picture day seriously.

Kenny's opened the book and flips to the page with our class on it. Everyone's there. All those people I used to know before I left... But in this copy of the yearbook, there's numbers next to everyone's picture. "What do the numbers mean?" I ask quietly as he sits down next to me. I can feel the heat of his body, and it makes me feel too hot in my pink hoodie. He points to a long string of numbers beneath a name.

"These numbers in blue are phone numbers."

"Wow, you have every girl in South Park's phone number? You must be mighty popular." _I told you he slept around, didn't I?_ I pinch my leg to keep myself from talking to Eric out loud.

"Yeah, well when you've lived here for so long..."

"What are the black numbers?" _I bet its how many times he tricked them into sleeping with him before they realized he gave them an STD._

The blond boy takes the book from me and closes it. He turns to face me, and I feel a shiver going down my spine. "What do you think they are?"

"Well Eri- I mean, is it how many times they've... uh... you know- with you?" Kennys eyebrows shoot up. I must have said the wrong thing. Oh, god, I hope he isn't mad at me. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. Now he hates me, just like everyone else. I blew it. _You can say that again. You should leave._ Eric seems to have accepted the fact that I'm trying to ignore him, because he's not yelling any more.

"It really has been a long time." Huh? I wasn't expecting _that_. "You've changed. When did _you_ start thinking about _sex_?"

"Probably around the time I started having it." My hands fly to my mouth. Eric's voice is back in full fury. _THAT WAS A SECRET, REMEMBER?_ He's really sore at me. If the _real_ Eric knew what I'd just said... I don't even want to think about it. The words "/I'm sorry,/" are barely audible through my hands. I'm not sure who I'm apologising to.

Kenny's staring at me like he's never seen me before. No, actually, it's worse than that. He's staring at me like he's seen me a million times, and then suddenly I unzipped my skin and turned out to be a giant green alien with a flatulence problem in disguise the whole time. I have no idea where I got that metaphor.

Several minutes later, he's still staring at me. Eric's still yelling, and I'm just staring at my hands, which I've moved from my mouth to my knees. We're both waiting for the other to say something, but I know it's certainly not going to be me who talks next.

"You... um. When was that?" He's looking at my neck, avoiding direct eye contact. His face is a little green, and a little red.

I'm not sure what to say to that. It depends on what he'd count as... that. I guess, officially, it's been around three years. I tell him that, and the colours on his face just seem to get worse.

"That... is a long time."

My jacket is too hot. I'm feeling claustrophobic, and I don't want to be here any more. I stand up.

He seems startled by my sudden movement. "Where are you going?" he asks, standing up as well and gently touching my wrist. I don't have an answer for him, and he seems to know that. "Stay."

I sit back on the bed obediently. He's still standing, and I can feel his eyes looking me up and down. I wipe my hands on my skirt. They're sweaty- my whole body is too hot. I pull at my jacket collar, trying to give myself more breathing room. I can't look up at him. I feel so ashamed, I'm not even sure of what.

Kenny looks down at the girl in front of him. She acts just like Butters, and she sounds like him. She even rubs her knuckles together when she's nervous. Right now she's pulling on her collar.

Kenny simply can _not_ imagine Butters losing his virginity before himself. He begins to wonder why this girl, this Marjorine, came to him. He had thought it was just to catch up, two old friends who hadn't seen each other in a while hanging out. But if this new-Butters isn't a virgin, maybe he guessed wrong. Maybe she wants whatever it is every girl wants from him. But _Butters_?

"Who?"

He squeezes the syllable out, throat constricting and voice cracking. There is something wrong with this picture. Butters would never have agreed to anything... yeah, he would have. If he didn't know what he was getting into, and he trusted the person... he'd do anything to impress them. Kenny's eyebrows drop, and his eyes turn to slits. Who else did Butters trust? Who else would have been so... so uncaring and _evil_? Only one person would do that to him.

"It's a secret." Marjorine mumbles, pretty green eyes downcast. Kenny inadvertently takes a step back.

Doing what he does, Kenny is privy to a great deal of painful knowledge. Boyfriends who cheated were the most common, of course, but there were many more reasons than that for turning to Kenny McCormick. Sane, healthy, happy girls and boys just weren't the type to come searching for his services. He knew every one of South Park's dirty little secrets from the mouths of the victims, and from the mouths of the perpetrators. He knew about Clyde slipping something into a certain someone's drink before taking advantage of him at Token's last party. He knew who Mr. Garrison was meeting with after class every Wednesday. He even knew which girl Bebe had slept with to get revenge on Clyde for cheating on her.

But this is just too much.

Just... _too_ wrong.

She pulls her collar from the other side, and he catches a glimpse of the edge of a red spot on her neck that isn't a freckle.

"I'll fucking kill that fatass."

**A/N2:** Well, there you have it, Chapter 2. I wanted to portray our little one as a bit more mature, but still the same old Leo Stotch we love. Hopefully any questions you have will be answered in the next few chapters, but if you don't get something, or I fucked this up somehow, leave a review or message me. Or do both! ((It makes me smile to see reviews and messages, even if they're small. Anything to show I'm not alone out here on the big web.)) By the way, do you mind that I just kind of jumped into the drama right away, or should I have put another chapter in between one and this one? I won't leave anything unexplained by the end, but perhaps for cohesion's sake there should be some extra padding? Like I've said, I'm new at this whole "effort" thing.


End file.
